


Indigo Yggdrasil

by R_Black



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Gen, I tried to keep the accents believable, POV Multiple, accents galore, also I aged up Rogue to be closer to Kurt's age, and a slight mention of Kurt x Ororo, give me movie Azazel as Kurt's dad or give me death, however there is a little Remy x Rogue if you squint SUPER hard, the movies won't give us this family moment so I'll write it myself, this is not ship-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-04-18 17:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14218014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Black/pseuds/R_Black
Summary: Among a school of mutants, Kurt Wagner was one of the more unique specimens. He's always been the goose among ducks, even in the circus. When he discovers a clue to his lineage, it sparks a journey with his friend, Peter, to find out answers. And these answers are only available by Raven, who's been taking a leave of absence in New Orleans.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Long ago, in the land of 2016, I wrote this story out on a computer that didn't have internet capabilities. Because of that, I couldn't email it to myself and had to print it out. I am now rewriting it chapter by chapter and posting it as I go. So, I hope you enjoy this nearly 2-year-old story about X-Men Apocalypse Nightcrawler! The accents, I hope, won't be distracting.

The sun had just cleared the mountains, signaling the day was in full swing. Birds chirped and flew around playfully, felling the wind beneath their wings. Deer grazed just beyond the tree line of a large clearing, one buck keeping watch for danger. A warren of rabbits rose up from the grass to stretch and play.

Suddenly, a giant black jet roared through the sky. It swerved around dangerously, as if the driver was drunk. Even from below, where the animals had now scattered, one could hear a man’s voice roar out, “KURT, EVEN OUT! EVEN OUT!”

Inside the jet sat only two beings. Both were mutants—humans that had been born with the x-gene, which gave them their mutations. Both were blue and covered in fur. But neither of them shared blood.

One was Hank McCoy, codenamed Beast. His mutation was extremely physical; he resembled something between a lion and an ape, with blue fur and golden cats’ eyes. His claws dug into the leather of his seat desperately. He roared in fear as the jet did a barrel roll. His long fur was fluffed out in alarm, and if he had a tail, it would probably be in between his legs.

The other mutant was currently _driving_ said jet. He was Kurt Wagner, codenamed Nightcrawler. His mutation was also physical, but instead of long, light blue fur, Kurt had short, fuzzy indigo fur that grew close to his skin. His short hair—styled with most of the bangs swept to one side and covering one of his amber eyes—was an inky black with blue highlights. He grinned, fangs glistening in the sunlight, as he evened out the jet’s flight, pressing all the needed buttons and pulling all the required levers with his three-fingered hands. His tail, long and prehensile with a sharp spade, wagged back and forth in excitement.

The jet found a straight path. Hank, through gritted teeth, growled, “Kurt, for God’s sake, _land this plane right now!_ ”

Kurt did as he was told, switching the plane from horizontal flight to vertical landing mode. He held the jet hovering in the air above a large flat plain as he brought out the landing gear.

“Okay now, Kurt,” Hank said nervously. “Just ease the bird down gently. Gently, Kurt—GENTLY!”

The jet nearly slammed down onto the ground, bouncing on its landing gear. Inside the jet, unsecured items hopped out of their places, already loosened from the rough ride.

“Okay,” Hank exhaled. “Kurt…”

Kurt was beaming, as if he’d just won the lottery. “How did I do, _Herr_ McCoy?” he asked gleefully, his soft German accent rising up as he spoke.

“Well…” Hank used the palm of his hand to flatten down the fur that was still standing up on his neck. “You, uh…You’ve definitely learned a lot since your first lesson. And your enthusiasm is certainly not lacking.”

Kurt’s tail wagged again.

“However, maybe try reeling it _back_ some?”

The tail drooped, as did the smile.

Hank placed his hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “You’re still learning, Kurt. There’s no shame in taking things slow while you’re learning. You don’t have to try to impress me with tricks every time we do a lesson.”

Kurt looked down, as if ashamed. His tail curled around his seat, showing his agitation.

Hank sighed. “You know, as much as I hate to say it, you _did_ have excellent control of the jet most of the time. I believe, given time, you’ll be an excellent pilot.”

Kurt smiled again, less proud than before, but much better than just a moment prior. “You think so?”

“I know so.” Hank returned the smile with one of his own. “You’re very good at it. You just need to take things a bit slower. Now, shift the control back to me. It’s time we headed back.”

“Aww,” Kurt whined. “Already?”

* * *

 

Hank took control of the jet and took off, steering the jet back upstate toward the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters with expertise. Kurt sat back and watched as the trees and roads below flew by faster than he could register.

They reached the school in no time and soon enough the basketball court opened up beneath them. Hank lowered the jet down below the court, into the school’s basement level. Once they were landed and everything was secure, Hank and Kurt left the jet. Someone was already waiting for them in the hangar bay.

“How’d you do, Kurt?” Scott—a boy around Kurt’s age with laser vision—asked.

Kurt smiled. “Perfectly,” he lied.

Hank snorted, ruffling Kurt’s hair. “Always room for improvement, Kurt,” he reminded the boy. “Scott, you’re up next. Why don’t you do the pre-flight checks while I go get something from my lab?”

Scott rushed away, eager to do better than Kurt, even though they weren’t graded on flight lessons.

“Kurt,” Hank called. “Come with me, please? I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Kurt inwardly groaned. Was he going to get an actual reprimanding for his flight lesson today? He’d only done _three_ barrel rolls this time!

Tail nearly dragging the floor in defeat, Kurt followed Hank McCoy through the basement level halls. Everything about this level was shiny and silver, as if the walls and floors were polished and waxed daily with chrome finish. Sometimes it hurt Kurt’s eyes, but he tended to ignore it.

Soon they arrived at the laboratory. Hank’s lab was messy and disorganized, like a college dorm room. Vials and beakers were everywhere, as were the tubes and lines connecting them.

“Wait here.” Hank dodged the electric wires strewn about and disappeared into the back.

Kurt explored the immediate vicinity, afraid of getting too lost in the lab. There were piles of papers on a desk, next to a coffee mug with a kitten on the side.

Kurt’s curiosity got the better of him. He flipped gently through the papers, wishing he knew more English to understand the garble that was science.

He stopped on a file labeled _Azazel_. A grainy grayscale picture was clipped to the front of the file, displaying a headshot of some sort of mutant with a scarred face and pointed ears.

Kurt’s own ears pricked in interest. He opened the file, surprised to see nearly nothing inside other than some basic information:

_Mutant File: Azazel_

_Real Name: Unknown_

_DOB: Unknown_

_Age: Unknown_

_Country of Birth: Russia_

_Skin Color: Red_

_Eye Color: Blue_

_Hair Color: Black_

_Associations: Hellfire Club (former), Brotherhood of Mutants (former), KGB_

_Last Known Location: Siberia_

_Status: Deceased_

_Date of Death: Unknown; before 1973_

_Cause of Death: Unknown; possibly Trask experimentations_

_Mutant Abilities: Teleportation, special awareness, prehensile tail_

_Skills: Sword fighting, hand-to-hand combat, multilingual (English, Russian, German, Polish, Finnish)_

_Relations: Unknown **(?)**_

Kurt cocked his head as he read the last line. Someone had written in the question mark after the Unknown in the _Relations_ section. And the whole _Mutant Abilities_ section was circled multiple times in red pen.

“Teleportation,” he read softly. “Like me?”

Another picture was pinned inside the file. It was another grayscale of Azazel, surrounded by smoke and holding swords. Kurt instantly realized the man was mid-teleport in the photo.

“Like me,” he confirmed.

One other page was in the file. Kurt flipped it and read something about a DNA test between Azazel and…Kurt Wagner?

Instantly his curiosity was heightened. Someone had done a DNA test on him? When? How?

Most of the words were unknown to Kurt’s limited English vocabulary, but he didn’t really want to know the specifics. All he could see and understand were two words at the bottom of the page, under some sort of graph:

_Positive Match_

“Aha! I found it!”

Hank’s exclamation startled Kurt, which sent the papers around him flying. He cursed in German, attempting to pick up the pages. His tail knocked over some vials on the adjacent tables as he bent down, and more curses flew from his mouth. He found the photos easily enough, but he’d lost the file and its two pages of information.

“Kurt? What are you doing?”

Kurt immediately stuffed the photos into his uniform pocket, quickly turning around and standing as Hank made his way over.

“You scared me,” Kurt admitted honestly. “I…my tail…”

Hank smiled. “No harm done. I’ll clean that mess up later. Now, on to why I brought you here.”

He held up something that resembled a lighter. “This is my latest invention. I was designing it for myself originally, but I figured you’d want it more.”

Kurt took the lighter, confused. “Vhat is it?” he asked.

“Press the button on the side,” Hank instructed, clearly containing his excitement.

Kurt did as he was told. The air around his arm shimmered. Suddenly, he wasn’t staring at a blue, three-fingered hand; he was looking at a pale human hand with five fingers! Sans his thumb, his fingers were constantly in two-digit groups that never separated.

Hank shuffled around and found a mirror in his organized mess. “Have a look!”

Kurt gasped. He had seen his own reflection many times: a dark blue, elf-eared demon with religious scars on his face and inky black hair. Now, however, that was no longer the case: he was a regular teen with pale, unscarred skin, blue eyes, and windswept brown hair.

_“Was ist…_?” Kurt could barely contain his surprise. “ _Warum? I-Ich bin…”_

“It’s an image inducer. Do you like it?” Hank asked, suddenly nervous.

Kurt grinned, happy to see flat teeth instead of fangs. “I love it! How did you do this? Why?”

“Well…” Hank placed a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “When I was younger, I wasn’t very _proud_ of my mutation. When it became more noticeable, I tried everything to make it disappear. For a while, I just used a special serum to help me hide it, and I could control it pretty easily unless I got angry. I was developing this for myself, but after the whole thing with Apocalypse, I’ve decided to embrace this shape. I’ve gotten a lot more comfortable in my own skin since then.”

He gestured to Kurt. “But I’ve noticed you like to go and hang out at the mall a lot with Jubilee, Scott, Ororo, and Jean. I’ve been told you’re rather nervous around judgmental crowds, so I figured…perhaps you’d like this to help you when you feel the need to fit in amongst the more, shall we say, _problematic_ people?”

Kurt stared at his disguised reflection in the mirror. He could still feel his normal three-fingered hand grabbing the mirror from Hank. His eyes told him he had _five_ fingers, but his brain and touch told him _three_. It was an odd sensation.

“I…” His voice was small and shaky. He coughed and tried again: “I like it. Truly, I do!”

Hank beamed, obviously glad his invention was liked. “Great! Now, Kurt, I just ask that you don’t start wearing it all the time. It should be used for emergencies and problematic situations, not every minute you’re in the mall. And certainly not around the mansion. Hiding your true self doesn’t solve anything.” He looked at his own large, ape-like hands. “It just hinders you more.”

Kurt nodded. “ _Jawohl_ ,” he agreed. “I vill not abuse it. I promise.”

“Good. Now, why don’t you run upstairs? I’m sure you’ve got class soon.”

Kurt’s eyes widened. “ _J-Ja_ , I do! I’m going to be late!”

He ‘ported away before Hank could say more. Right after landing in his room, Kurt turned off the image inducer and placed it gently on his dresser. Immediately his image flickered back to normal.

As he rushed to take off his uniform and put on more comfortable civilian attire, the two photographs from Azazel’s file fluttered to the ground. Kurt paused to look at them as he buckled his jeans. He was instantly reminded of the DNA test results, and of the fact he’d had a father that looked just like him.

He picked up the pictures with his tail, grabbed some tape, walked over to his standing mirror, and taped the photos on it delicately. He spent a few minutes comparing his face with the headshot of Azazel. Were they similar? Did he have Azazel’s nose? His jaw? He certainly got the man’s ears…

Kurt’s eyes drifted to the reflection of his clock and he cursed again. He’d have to sit and compare later. Right now it was class time!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt gets some information on his father, and is told the possible identity of his mother.

“That’s it for today, class,” Professor Xavier announced. “Remember, your essays are due tomorrow!”

Kurt picked up his book and was about to teleport to his next class when the Professor said, “Mr. Wagner, please stay a moment.”

Kurt paused. _Did I do something wrong today?_

“You’re not in trouble.” Xavier smiled. “I just wish to talk.”

He motioned for Kurt to sit back down. The boy did.

“Kurt,” the professor began, “is there something on your mind?”

Instantly, Kurt’s tail twisted around the chair leg. “No, Professor.”

“You do realize I _don’t_ have to read your mind to tell that something’s bothering you, right?” Xavier cocked an eyebrow at the blue mutant squirming in his chair. “I understand you haven’t done anything wrong. Relax.”

Kurt tried to. He looked down at his hands, the fingers of which were intertwined with each other, sitting on top of his desk. “I just…I am unsure vith vhat I am right now…”

“Oh?”

“I mean…” The young mutant scratched the back of his neck. “I know I am a mutant— _und_ I have no shame in that! But…today I found out about a person that might be my…I…I am just…”

The Professor gave him a patient look. “What do you need, then?”

“Could you, maybe, confirm something?” Kurt’s amber eyes flashed in anticipation. “Confirm if maybe…maybe I am right?”

“Confirm what, exactly?”

“If…If my father vas a mutant named Azazel?”

Charles froze. His smile melted into a frown. “How…H-How did you find out about Azazel?”

“On accident,” Kurt admitted. “ _Herr_ McCoy vas searching for something in his lab _und_ I accidentally knocked some papers over. I found a…vhat is it…DNA test? It said there was a match. That means he is… _mein Vater, ja?_ My…father?”

Charles rubbed his temples. “I didn’t know such a test was even _done_ , but…yes. If it said positive, then you are Azazel’s son.”

Kurt’s heart soared. “Really?” Then, it sank back down, becoming hollow. “Then, that means…I von’t ever know him.”

“I’m assuming you read more than just the DNA test results,” the Professor guessed with a smirk.

Kurt didn’t try to hide his shame. “ _Ja._ I saw the file too.”

Charles sighed. “Come with me. We’ll take a walk.”

“But my next class...”

“I’ll give you a tardy pass.”

* * *

The two ended up circling the grounds. The sunlight filtered through the trees, catching the light of autumn in beautiful oranges and yellows.

“Kurt, I’d like you to know now that no one will judge you based on your parentage,” Xavier said as they rounded the lake. “Though, only Raven, Erik, Hank, and I would remember Azazel, if we’re honest.”

“Who vas he?” Kurt asked.

“Honestly?” Charles shrugged his shoulders. “Even I don’t know. We—Hank and I—only knew him as Azazel when we first formed the X-Men. He was a member of the Hellfire Club—our adversaries. After their leader’s defeat, Azazel and the remaining members joined with Erik and Raven to form the Brotherhood.”

“So, Magneto and Mystique would know more of him?” Kurt asked hopefully.

“Possibly. But Kurt.” Xavier stopped his wheelchair, prompting Kurt to do the same. “Your father was a bad man. He was a ruthless killer and did whatever he had to do to get a job done.” He looked up at Kurt with shining eyes. “But he was not _you_. You are a hero, Kurt. A good person, through and through. I hope you know that.”

Kurt nodded. “I assumed by the KGB label that he vas not a good person. But, I still vant to know. I’d like to know vhat he vas like; not how he killed or did his job, but…as a person.”

“Then Erik and Raven would have more experience with Azazel’s personal life,” Charles admitted.

“Do you…maybe know who my mother is?”

Charles hesitated. He had a sneaking suspicion about the identity of Kurt’s mother, but he didn’t want to share it. It was hard to deny what seemed like obvious traits passed down from that mother. Blue skin wasn’t exactly common outside of the Institute…especially coupled with golden or amber eyes.

“Professor?”

Kurt’s voice snapped him back to the present. Charles shook his head. “Let me offer you some advice: Who you are now has nothing to do with who your parents were. You’ve lived your life up until this point proving this fact, even though you had no idea who they were. Knowing won’t change your past.”

“But if my mother still lives,” Kurt argued, “then perhaps it can change my future. I do not ask to live with her. Only that ve talk, maybe stay in contact. If she is still out there, I at least vould like to know she is safe.”

“And if she’s not?” Charles gave Kurt a worried look. “If she’s not alive, what then?”

“Then I vill visit vhatever grave she has,” Kurt said, his voice firm and sure. “I vish for closure—that is the vord, _ja_? Closure. _Und_ maybe one day I can do the same vith Azazel’s grave—if he even has one.”

Charles saw so much emotion in Kurt’s eyes it nearly shattered his own heart. He sighed sadly, looking down to watch Kurt’s tail twitch and shift to mimic its owner’s distress. “Azazel _does_ have a grave, but it’s in Russia—in an area with an entry barred to any who are not a part of the Russian government.”

“Can we visit it one day?” Kurt asked hopefully.

Charles shook his head. “Not now, Kurt. Maybe one day, yes. But not now.”

Kurt’s tail drooped a little. “That is okay.” He looked at Charles with an understanding gaze. “I know vhat you are trying to tell me, _und_ I agree. Knowing who they vere does not change who I am, even if one or both vere villains. But it vill still make me feel better to know all the same.”

“Of course.” They started to head back to the mansion. “And if you ever need someone to listen—if you feel this whole situation is a bit too heavy on your heart—my door will always be open, Kurt.”

* * *

Unfortunately for Kurt, Raven was out of the mansion for an extended period. He knew this because Raven had announced to the team that she would be leaving and would return later that year.

So, Kurt had to turn to Professor Lensherr for information. The man kind of made Kurt nervous, depending on the day. Sure, he was okay _now_ , but he didn’t necessarily have a good track record with staying good. And he _was_ known to have a bit of a short fuse.

Erik was currently in the library, reading an old Arthurian novel. A tea set sat on the table next to him, freshly made. He looked up at Kurt’s entrance.

“ _Mr. Wagner,”_ he greeted in German. The two usually conversed in German, as it was comfortable for both of them. _“What brings you here today?”_

_“I was wondering if I could talk to you about someone.”_

_“About whom?”_

“Azazel.”

Erik raised his eyebrows. “Azazel?” he repeated. _“And how do you know of him?”_

_“He’s my father.”_

Erik didn’t seem surprised. _“Interesting. Now that I look at you, there is a resemblance. You have your father’s tail, for sure.”_

_“What was he like?”_

_“Well…not like you.”_ Erik reached over to the table he was sitting next to and poured Kurt a cup of tea. Kurt took the offering without any sugar. _“Granted, he was quiet like you. But the similarities probably stop there.”_

_“Oh…”_

Erik took a sip of his own tea. “Kurt,” he said. “Azazel _was a…an interesting fellow. Out of all the Hellfire Club—and Brotherhood mutants—he was the one that remained mysterious. He held his past close to him and shared nothing with me. In fact, I believe he disliked me the most.”_ He chuckled to himself. _“But he was loyal. He would have fought_ Shaw _if the man hadn’t died. And for a while he was the same with me. But, we fell out of rhythm and eventually the group disbanded._ Azazel _went back to Russia. I never saw him again.”_

_“But what was he like?”_ Kurt persisted.

_“Just as I described. Quiet. Solitary. Loyal. He was also stubborn as a mule when it came to his own beliefs. Quite the vodka drinker, too; that man could out-drink a Viking and still be level-headed.”_

Kurt risked a smile at the statement.

_“Honestly, though,”_ Erik continued, “ _only one person in the world would be able to tell you what he was like on a personal level. Your mother.”_

_“I tried to ask Professor Xavier about her, but he never told me who she was. I still don’t know.”_

Erik frowned. “ _I would have thought this information to be obvious.”_

Kurt returned the frown.

_“You mean you haven’t figured it out yet?”_ Erik asked incredulously.

_“Figured what out?”_

_“That your mother is…”_ Erik suddenly stopped mid-sentence, looking annoyed. “Charles,” he spat in English, looking to the sky. “The boy has a right to know!”

“Know?” Kurt’s tail swished behind him at light speed, the spade curling and uncurling like a cat’s. The Professor had telepathically stopped Erik from telling Kurt about mother! “So he _does_ know who my mother is?”

Erik sighed. “There’s no hard proof of it, such as a lab test, but…I would have thought your _coloring_ would have given it away. What with Azazel’s more _physical_ traits, there’s only one woman I know who could pass on the colors.”

It took a moment for Kurt’s mind to catch up. He stared blankly at Erik, blinking rapidly after a few minutes. “You mean…my mother…?”

“Charles wanted to wait so nobody made any rash assumptions, but the truth is…it’s obvious.” Erik gave him a look that bordered between sympathy and interest. “Raven is your mother.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt gets a present and proposal from his friend an teammate, Peter.

Kurt sat on a windowsill in one of the many halls of the Institute. It was Saturday, just a few days after Kurt had learned the identity of his father and possibly his mother. Most of the students were outside playing, walking around, or going to the mall. Kurt watched some students as they played basketball. They’d asked him to play, too, but he wasn’t in the mood.

He wasn’t mad at the Professor. The man was just trying to make sure they weren’t wrong in their assumptions.

“Mutants are still new,” Xavier had said two days ago when Kurt had confronted him about Erik’s news. “We don’t know how second generations like yourself are affected by genetic looks. It may be that blue coloring is a dominant X-Gene trait and that Azazel had carried it even though his skin was red. Or someone other than Raven could have been your mother. There are many possibilities.”

Kurt wanted to wait until Raven returned before pressing for a DNA test. It was bad enough that Hank—who, they discovered, had done so on suspicion—had tested Kurt without his permission. Raven might not appreciate it in the least.

Kurt’s tail curled and uncurled around him as he pulled his knees up to his chest. When would Raven come back? Where was she now? What was she doing?

He sighed, placing his chin on his knees.

“That’s a heavy sigh from such a small guy,” chirped a voice to Kurt’s left.

Kurt turned his head away from the window, staring in confusion at the owner of the voice: Peter Maximoff, aka Quicksilver, one of his X-Men teammates. “Huh?”

Peter smiled at Kurt, offering a snow cone that looked a little wind-worn. “Heard you needed some cheering up, so I ran to Boston to get you a super special snow cone.”

“Vhy Boston?” Kurt asked, taking the cone.

Peter shrugged. “No one nearby had blueberry.”

Peter jumped up onto the sill and sat across from Kurt. “So, what’s been buggin’ you, Blue? Haven’t seen you this broody since we told you what happened to Angel.”

Angel had been a Horseman of Apocalypse, like Erik and Ororo—the latter of whom was now a close friend of Kurt’s. Angel and Kurt had met in a cage match, but due to Raven’s interference, they’d ended the fight in a draw. Apparently, Angel had taken the damage Kurt had dealt to one of his wings very personally, for when the X-Men went to stop Apocalypse, Angel had specifically targeted Kurt. At the end of the fight, Kurt had nearly killed himself teleporting everyone off of their crashing plane at the same time—everyone except Angel. Days after the X-Men had returned to the mansion and rebuilt it, the news of Angel’s death slipped out, and Kurt had felt solely responsible. He hadn’t left his room for three days due to his depression.

Kurt took a bite of his snow cone. “I’m…I’m having some issues vith my parents.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I know how that feels. What happened? Your mom call you and say you had to come back to Germany and eat the rest of your vegetables?”

Kurt shook his head. “I vish…”

“Oh, um…” Peter immediately realized he’d said the wrong thing. “Sorry,” he apologized while shifting uncomfortably on his butt. “Was she nice?”

“I don’t know.” Kurt began to nibble on the ice shavings. “I never knew her.”

“Shit,” Peter cursed quietly. “Well, I made you feel worse. Sorry, man.”

“It is okay,” Kurt said. “She is not dead. I just…I found out who she is—or who she could be—and I cannot talk to her.”

“Your dad can’t help?”

“ _He_ is dead.”

Peter looked ready to hurl his face into his own snow cone. “This is a terrible attempt at cheering you up.”

Kurt smiled at that. “You didn’t know,” he said softly. “I never knew my father either, anyway.”

“So, your mom’s the only thing you got,” Peter finished. “I get it. So, why can’t you talk to her? She mad at you?”

“No,” Kurt answered. “She is just not around. I don’t know vhere she is right now.”

“Can’t you have the Professor look her up?”

“Vhat do you mean?”

Peter took a bite of his snow cone. With his mouth full, he said, “He can use the Cerebro thingy to find people. He could probably find your mom easily.”

Kurt became a bit hopeful. Maybe knowing where Raven was would ease his heart some. He could at least know she was not dead somewhere!

“Yes,” Kurt agreed. “That is a good idea! I should ask to do that!”

“Ask to do what?”

Both young men jumped in their seated positions. Jubilee, another friend of Kurt’s, stood beaming at them. Her bright, canary-yellow coat nearly gave Kurt vertigo every time he looked at it. Her black curls bounced in their pigtail positions as she hopped on her heels excitedly.

“Kurt was gonna ask the Professor to use Cerebro,” Peter informed her. “To find Kurt’s mom.”

Jubilee looked skeptical. “But, the Professor isn’t done building the new Cerebro yet.”

“New one?” Kurt inquired.

“Yeah. When the mansion blew up, so did Cerebro. The Professor’s been working with Dr. McCoy to build a new and improved one.”

Kurt’s heart dropped to his stomach. His tail, which had been rising in Kurt’s excitement, flopped down and slapped against the sill like a dead fish. He thought the whole mansion had been rebuilt already, but apparently Cerebro was more complicated than a few beams here and there…

Peter looked equally disappointed. “Aww. Sorry, Blue. I guess that’s out…”

Jubilee reached over and brushed Kurt’s hair out of his face. “Don’t worry, Kurt. You’ll find your mom soon.”

“Thank you, Jubilee,” Kurt said with a small smile.

The girl gave Kurt a kiss on the cheek, making him blush purple. “Let’s go to the arcade later,” she chirped. That should take your mind off this!”

Kurt smiled wider. “Yes, maybe it vill!”

Jubilee skipped away, never faltering in her happy step.

Peter gave Kurt an amused expression. “It’s so funny that you’ve got girls crawling all over you, but you don’t do a thing about it.”

“ _Was_?” Kurt asked, flustered.

“You’ve got Jubes, Ro, Jean, and so many other girls scrambling around trying to be your friend,” Peter said with a laugh. “You gonna pick one soon or what? The rest of the guys don’t wanna step on your tail or steal your girl!”

Kurt picked up the joking tone. “ _Nein_ , they are only friends. And Jean and Scott are practically dating, anyway!”

“What about Ororo?” Peter wiggled his eyebrows and smirked. “I know you’ve been paying attention to _her_ more than Jubilee.”

Kurt huffed, his face heating up. “I-I do not! Ve are only friends!”

“I see that,” the speedster conceded. “But I’m not the only one that can read your super special tail language.”

Kurt’s eyes widened in alarm. He grabbed his wagging tail, which had been rotating in its usual ‘I-like-Ororo’ manner. He cursed the appendage for having a mind of its own.

Peter barked out a laugh. “Chill, dude. Ro is hot and nice. You should totally ask her out sometime!”

Kurt curled into himself more. “I vould not vant to impose…”

“Worst she can do is say no.” Peter reached over and ruffled Kurt’s hair. “Why don’t you ask Raven to help you practice? I mean, it might be awkward, but she might go for it. She could shift into Storm after she gets back from New Orleans, and you can—”

“Vhat did you say?” Kurt interrupted.

“Ask Raven to be a pseudo-Storm to help you practice asking her out?”

“ _Nein, nein_. The part about vhere Raven is. Vhere is she?”

“New Orleans?”

“ _Ja_! How do you know that?”

Peter shrugged. “I went through her stuff like a million times—don’t give me that look you know I can’t help it!—and I found an itinerary for a flight to New Orleans. I guess she’s got family there or something, I dunno.”

Kurt’s heart leapt into his throat. Now he knew where Raven was!

“Why are you so interested in that, anyway?” Peter asked, his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“…”

Before Kurt could even take a breath to answer, Peter’s face lit up. “Oh my God,” he nearly yelled. “You mean your _mom_ is—”

“SHUSH,” Kurt hissed. “I don’t know for sure! I vanted to vait and ask her before just _assuming_ …”

Peter finished his snow cone and crossed his arms. “Well, that’s gonna be a while. I didn’t see any itinerary in her room.”

Kurt groaned. “Ugh…”

“But…” Peter gave him a sly grin. “Who says you have to wait for _her_ to come to you?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Think about it. You know where she went. You wanna talk to her. Why wait?”

“ _Und_ how do you suppose I _get_ to New Orleans?”

“Uh, you fly the X-Jet there?” Peter rolled his eyes and huffed out a laugh. “Duh!”

“ _Herr_ McCoy vould never agree to take me all the way to New Orleans,” Kurt argued, “just on a whim to see Raven!”

“Who says you ask someone to take you?”

Kurt’s only reaction was a blank stare, so Peter continued: “You’ve been taking flying lessons from Beast, right?”

Suddenly, the point got across to Kurt. “No,” he said firmly. “Absolutely not! The Professor vould be so _furious_!”

“He wouldn’t do anything terrible. It’s for a good cause! It’s not like you’re gonna go see a concert across the country or something. It’s family business; you’ve gotta talk to your mom!”

“Raven might not be—”

“Dude, even _I_ can see the resemblance now, though I don’t know where you got the tail…” Peter quirked an eyebrow. “Raven is _totally_ your mom! And since she’s not coming here any time soon, bring the mother-son talk to her!”

Kurt shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know…”

“Yes you do.” The speedster placed his hands on Kurt’s shoulders supportively. “You _know_. You gotta talk to her about this. The longer you wait, the worse it feels.”

The tone in his voice made Kurt suspect this talk was no longer just about _him_ anymore. “Are you okay, Peter?”

Peter smiled. “Yeah, sure. I’m fine.” He’d said that a little too quickly, Kurt noticed. “Look, if you really think you need a chaperone, then I’ll go with you!”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I’m totally an adult—I’m like, 7 years older than you—so the Professor can’t say you didn’t have adult supervision, at least.”

“I suppose…” Kurt looked at his feet, his face scrunched in thought. “I suppose that is okay…”

“Great! Pack your bags, Blue! We’re off to New Orleans!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this story, I am keeping Pietro's name as Peter. His name is Peter in the movies, so I wish to keep it canonically correct with them. If I write any other story with Quicksilver from the comics, he will be called Pietro.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt and Peter begin their journey to New Orleans, and Peter realizes Kurt isn't exactly the best pilot...

Kurt had a single backpack with him as he entered the hangar bay. He found Peter with a bag of his own standing in the middle, where the X-Jet _should_ have been parked.

“Vhere is the jet?” Kurt asked, quickly approaching his friend/chaperone.

Peter pointed up to the roof. “Just missed it. Apparently, it’s Jean’s flying lesson today.”

Kurt looked down. “I guess ve have to vait.”

Peter glanced around, curious. “Why would we have just _one_ , though?”

“Pardon?”

A great whirlwind whipped up as Peter lived up to his codename, Quicksilver. The speedster ran around the hangar bay, looking for anything they could use to get to New Orleans. He wasn’t willing to run with Kurt all the way to Louisiana. Even Peter had his limits.

Quicksilver found a button that just so happened to be sitting on a metal pedestal. It looked important. Like, a _do-not-press_ kind of important.

He pressed it.

A red light flashed within the hangar bay, and some sort of alarm went off.

“I didn’t do it,” Peter quickly yelled as he ran back to Kurt.

The blue mutant glared at him. “Vhat did you do?”

Peter was about to answer with another “ _I didn’t do it_ ” when the floor beneath them began to spin slowly. Peter immediately ran off to the side of the room, where the floor seemed to be stable. Kurt teleported to a similar spot on the opposite end.

The place where they had been standing suddenly was acting like an elevator. The floor became a platform, spinning clockwise and rising upwards. Underneath the platform—the width of which was about 5 feet thick—was a second jet, smaller and sleeker than the X-Jet.

The wall behind Kurt suddenly split open like a door. He yelped and teleported next to Peter, who was stunned beyond belief.

The new doorway led out into a tunnel, like the one for the Batmobile in the comics Peter read. Only, this one was just the right size for the smaller jet.

The jet itself had stopped rising, and its nose was pointed directly at the tunnel, ready for takeoff.

“I _may_ have done that,” Peter confessed.

Kurt hesitantly walked over to the new jet, running his hands over the sleek black metal. It shined like obsidian. “ _Unglaublich,”_ he muttered.

“Huh?”

Kurt ignored Peter as the blue mutant made his way inside. Peter followed close behind. When he was inside, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

The technology inside this jet was far more advanced than that of the X-Jet. Fewer buttons and knobs to press and turn during flight, only a couple levers to pull, sleeker headgear…everything about this screamed _‘future’_.

Peter was suddenly very self-conscious of his 8-track player sitting on his hip. Boy, did that seem obsolete in this thing…

Kurt walked to the control console, sitting in the pilot seat. His eyes lit up. “The seats are so comfortable!”

Peter stuck his own rear into the co-pilot seat. It felt like he was sitting on a cloud. “Holy shit,” slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. Why couldn’t his _bed_ be this comfortable?

Kurt started examining the controls. “They are labeled,” he said, surprised. “So much easier to start up and fly!”

The tailed mutant reached under his seat and found a take-off checklist. “Could you check some of the outer things?” he asked. “You are faster.”

Peter did the pre-flight checks at Kurt’s command, finishing within record time. He also quickly grabbed their bags, since they’d been dropped in utter shock at the black jet’s arrival. Kurt started pressing buttons and turning knobs. He flipped a few switches and put on his headset. Peter buckled himself in, urging Kurt to do the same.

The engines roared to life. The outer hatch closed.

“So, have you ever taken off before?” Peter inquired, suddenly feeling very nervous.

“I have not,” Kurt admitted. “I have done vertical take-off and landing, but nothing like this.”

Peter nodded, biting his lips. “First time for everything, I guess.”

He looked over at the blue mutant, who had his eyes closed in a quick prayer. That didn’t help his stomach any. Peter closed his own eyes and opened them again, facing the tunnel.

“Just, uh,” he started. “Just warn me before you do this. Countdown or somethiiiiiiiiiiiiii—”

Kurt had propelled the jet forward and Peter’s tongue had rammed down his throat before he had even finished the sentence. The jet screamed down the tunnel, racing for the exit at a speed that rivaled Quicksilver’s own. The tunnel lights flashed as the jet sped past. Another door opened up at the end, revealing open sky.

Before Peter could even count to three they’d reached the end and shot out of the opening like a cannon.

Instantly, gravity took hold and they began a steep nosedive straight toward the sea.

“Where the Hell did the water come from?” Peter howled as they dove faster.

Alarms sounded within the cabin and Kurt rushed to fix things. Buttons were pressed, levers were pulled, and everything was flashing! He pulled the joystick back, nearly standing on his toes as he pulled and arched his back. Kurt’s eyes were shut tightly, his fangs bared in a snarl.

The jet’s nose rose up and they shot into the sky, skimming the water below with their landing gear.

Peter’s stomach had definitely switched places with one of his lungs. He sat there for a good minute trying to steady his breathing. Were his appendix and spleen switched too? It was so hard to tell.

He finally looked over at Kurt, whose arms were fully extended as he held the joystick and carefully steered the jet away from the mansions’ land—which included a cliffside bay, apparently. Kurt was breathing heavily, his eyes finally open and wide as saucers. His tail was sticking straight out, stabbed right through the seat like a javelin.

“Okay, on a personal note,” Peter said, his voice shaky. “I may like going fast, but only at a _run_. Next time, maybe don’t take off like a bat outta hell? This is the first time _ever_ I feel like I might have gotten speed-sick.”

Kurt laughed nervously. His tail drooped as he slowly relaxed. His arms bent again. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I did not expect it to go so _fast_. Vhere are ve now?”

Peter looked down through the windshield. “I think we just passed over the mall—oh, now it’s way back there. Wow, I never thought the speed from up here was so different!”

Kurt turned the plane South, pulling up a map from his bag with his tail. “Ve need to go Southvest. If ve hit the Gulf, ve are in the right area, at least…sort of.”

“So, we might just wanna find a good stretch of land if we have to take off and land that fast,” Peter informed the younger mutant. “Just FYI.”

Kurt looked around, then smiled. “Ve are able to do vertical landing!” He pointed to a section of buttons that made absolutely no sense to Peter. “That means ve can do vertical take-off, too! Easy day, _mein fruend!”_

“If you say so, Blue,” Peter mumbled. “If you say so…”

* * *

Within three hours they had reached the New Orleans area of Louisiana. Kurt had brought the jet to a hover over a nice clear patch in the swampish sort of area on the outskirts. The landing gear squelched as the weight of the jet hit the marshy ground, but it held firm. Kurt even managed _not_ to slam the jet down into the ground like he usually did with the X-Jet, so… _improvement_!

“So, does this thing have a cloaking device or something?” Peter asked as he and Kurt unbuckled from their seats.

Kurt looked around the cockpit for a moment, then spotted a boxed button that was labeled _Cloak_. He lifted the box and pressed it. Nothing happened to the inside, but Kurt could see the nose of the plane had disappeared. It reminded Peter of a chameleon.

“Cool,” Peter said with a whistle. “Alright! We’re here in New Orleans!”

He ran out of the jet faster than Kurt could say, “Yes we are.”

Kurt ‘ported out, instantly getting his toes stuck in the marsh mud. A few feet away, Peter was also tromping through the mud, albeit at a much slower speed than mere seconds before. Kurt saw skid tracks leading to the speedster’s current location and nearly laughed.

They exited the marsh slowly, with Peter parking the trees every few yards to make a pather back to the jet. Soon, they could see the city of New Orleans’ outskirts, and Kurt’s excitement grew.

Kurt remembered something at that moment. He pulled out the image inducer from his pocket. Peter glanced over and asked, “You smoke, Blue?”

Kurt ignored him and pressed the button. His disguise shimmered into place. Peter jumped back in alarm.

“Whoa! Neat trick. Didn’t know you could do that.”

“ _Herr_ McCoy gave it to me,” Kurt told him. “I figured if ve’d like to stay low, ve should look normal.”

Peter nodded in agreement. “Right. Good call.” His stomach rumbled. Kurt’s ears pricked in interest. “Hmm…You know, I could go for some of the famous New Orleans food right now. You feelin’ up for some gumbo?”

“Vhat is gumbo?” Kurt asked.

Peter grinned. “Oh, boy, are _you_ in for a thrilling treat, Blue!”

* * *

As the two made their way into New Orleans, a shadow shifted away from the tree line. Red eyes glared after them, genuinely intrigued. Strangers didn’t usually come into New Orleans via the swamps.

And they certainly didn’t drive giant black jet planes…


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt tries gumbo for the first time, and Peter reveals his own parentage.

Kurt’s mouth was on _fire_. There was no doubt about that at all.

Kurt gasped, wanting to scream that his whole throat was engulfed in the flames of whatever had been in that food. Peter sat across the small table from him, laughing hysterically.

“I’m guessing you’re not a fan of spicy foods?” Peter quipped.

Kurt downed his water, the burning sensation only halting a little bit. Peter’s water suffered the same fate, and yet the burning did not stop.

A waitress came over, trying not to laugh at Kurt’s distress. She placed a metal pitcher onto their table. “Milk helps, honey,” she offered quickly before leaving to take someone else’s order.

Kurt didn’t even bother pouring himself a glass; he chugged half the pitcher. The relief was instant, and he sighed. Milk dripped from his chin like a white beard.

Peter was roaring in laughter at this point. Tears welled up in his eyes and he wiped them away as soon as he could breathe. “Oh, man…Blue, you are the best guy to have around, I’m tellin’ ya!”

Kurt glared at him, though he supposed the effect wasn’t as scary in his disguised form as it was normally. “That vas vorse than that slushie at the mall!”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“My brain vas frozen,” Kurt said dejectedly.

Peter snickered. “You mean you got a brain freeze? Wish I’d seen that reaction!”

“Shut up.”

The waitress came back with another pitcher of milk. “Here, sweetie.”

Kurt picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth. He then smiled at the waitress and took the offered milk. “ _Danke_. I am sorry for the mess.” He gestured to the milk that had missed his mouth and splattered on the floor during his panic.

She grinned and waved her hand. “It’s no big deal, hun. We get tourists like you all the time, thinkin’ they can handle the Cajun gumbo. We’re used to it.”

Kurt blushed, staring at his bowl. He was still hungry, but there was no way he could finish this!

Peter switched their bowls. “Here. Try the Creole gumbo. Less spice.”

Kurt stared at the new dish dubiously. “I don’t know…”

Peter started chowing down on the Cajun gumbo before Kurt could argue further.

Kurt put his spoon into the bowl and stirred a bit. Then, he closed his eyes and pulled the food up to his mouth. The taste was not as hellish in his mouth, and he could actually sense the various flavors mixed within. Sure, he tatsed pepper, but it wasn’t as prominent. Celery, tomato, and fish were the dominant taste, which suited him just fine.

He still drank the milk, but this time it was slower going down his throat, and he didn’t require as much.

Peter didn’t even need a drink. He’d just gulped the whole bowl of gumbo within a minute and had already ordered seconds.

They’d both finished their respective gumbos and even ordered a plate of beignets for desserts.

“This reminds me,” Kurt said, licking powdered sugar off of his fingers. “Vhere are you getting the money to pay for all of this?”

Peter smirked. “I may or may not have swiped Beast’s credit card before he left in the X-Jet. Not like he keeps his wallet in a safe spot when he’s wearing his uniform.”

Kurt’s eyes widened. “You mean ve are _stealing_?”

“Nah. Stealing implies we do a dine n’ dash—running out of the place without paying for the food we ate. _I_ stole Hank’s card, but _he’s_ paying for the food. And any souvenirs you may want.”

“I do not vant to wrongfully use his card,” Kurt said firmly. “It is a terrible plan!”

Peter shrugged. “Suit yourself. I could always do my usual five finger discount…I _have_ been known to be a kleptomaniac…”

Kurt was stuck between a rock and a hard place with this argument. He sighed. “I suppose ve can pay him back later.”

“We’ll get him something, too. That way we can soften the blow with presents.”

Kurt gave him a skeptical look. “You are a terrible influence.”

“Call it a family trait.” Peter wolfed down a few more beignets.

“Your mother is also a…’klept-o-ma-niac’?” Kurt asked, sounding out the last word carefully.

“Nah. My dad is known to be bad sometimes, though. Depends on his mood, I guess.”

“Oh? Who is your father?”

Peter leaned in close. “I guess since you told me Raven’s your mom, you should deserve to know…Magneto’s my father.”

Kurt nearly did a spit take with his milk. As it was, he’d managed to choke on it. He coughed a minute before an actual sentence slid out: “ _VAS_!? He is your _father_?”

“Yup.” Peter took a sip of water—refilled by the waitress earlier. His mouth formed a thin line after the sip. “And he has no idea…”

Kurt narrowed his eyes. He could barely see any resemblance, but the silver hair was kind of distracting. “So, vait…You are making _me_ confront Raven about our possible relation, vhen _you_ have still not confronted _Magneto_ about the same issue?”

Peter grinned nervously. “Yeah…I figured maybe if I helped you do this, it might get me off my ass and do it myself, y’know?”

Kurt frowned, then pursed his lips. “You do realize I am going to force you vhen ve return, _ja_?”

“You can’t do a thing,” Peter challenged.

“You may be fast,” Kurt conceded, “but I am a teleporter. There is novhere you can run that I cannot follow.”

Peter leaned back in his chair. Emotions warred on his face. “I told you this in confidence, and now you’re gonna _force me_?”

“Are you not forcing me?” Kurt shot back with a grin.

“Point made, point made.” Peter exhaled. “You may look like a devil, but you’re more like a mule. Stubborn jackass.”

Kurt grinned, and they both ended up laughing.

“Pardon,” a voice said smoothly beside their table. “Mind if I sit ‘ere?”

Kurt looked up. A young man somewhere between his and Peter’s age, was standing next to their table. He wore a long, brown coat, with a dark purple dress shirt and black slacks. His brown hair was just as lengthy as Peter’s, but it curtained his face more, and was less wind-blown. Kurt couldn’t see the man’s eyes; they were covered by dark sunglasses.

Peter placed his booted feet on the chair in front of the man. “I dunno. Seat _might_ be taken.”

“Forgive de interruption of your conversation,” the stranger said, putting up his hands. “But I couldn’t help overhearin’ sometin’…”

He sat down, brushing Peter’s feet away like dirt. “Dey call me Remy.”

Kurt shifted, feeling extremely uncomfortable. Peter looked like he’d just eaten a sour apple.

Remy placed his elbows on the table, joining his hands and leaning his head behind them, as if in contemplation. “You two tourists be sometin’ more dan what you seem, _non_?”

Kurt recognized the soft French accent. He’d been to France and had actually learned a bit of the language on his own. But this accent wasn’t _true_ French. It seemed…warped. Evolved. “Ve don’t know vhat you’re talking about,” he said bluntly.

“Now, now, Devil,” Remy said with a _tsk_. “You shouldn’t be tellin’ lies. Remy don’t like t’ be lied to…”

Kurt’s fur stood on end, and he worried for a moment if his inducer was turned off. He glanced at his hands for a moment, assessing that was not the case.

“I seen your trick back at de swamp,” Remy said softly. “De one where you change from blue devil t’ man.”

He looked at Peter, next. “And de one where ya landed a big black jet.”

“Okay, so what is it you want?” Peter growled. He looked ready to run, regardless of whether Kurt could keep up or not.

Remy pulled his sunglasses lower down his nose. Kurt flinched, ready for a power like Scott’s—where laser beams of light shot from his eyes. But, no such power was displayed. The man’s eyes seemed like they were inverted; where the whites should have been was pure black, and his irises were blood red.

“Remy be just like you. Can’t teleport—” He looked at Kurt. “—or run really fast—” The eyes found Peter. “But Remy is a mutant. And he hear dat you two be lookin’ for someone…”

“We’re not interested in guides,” Peter spat. “Especially creepy ones that eavesdrop.”

He rose from his seat, prompting Kurt to do the same. Remy didn’t move as the two made their way to the counter and used Hank’s card to pay. They had to pass their table again to reach the door, and that was when Remy called out: “Not even a guide who knows where Raven be?”

Kurt hesitated. Peter whirled around, his eyes glaring. “And what would you know about _Raven_?”

Remy rose up from his seat at the challenge, sliding up really close to Peter, much like a snake. He smirked. “I know she blue like ‘im.” He pointed to Kurt as he whispered this information. “And I know she likes to use a pretty blonde disguise when travelin’ around. She better wit’ de blue look, if we’re bein’ honest.”

“And you just plan to help us?” Peter snarked. “Just because we mentioned a woman you just so happen to know, you’ll help us?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Remy said with a dashing smile. “I’ll even take you to where she was last seen! But, you gotta do sometin’ for Remy, first.”

Kurt didn’t want to ask but did it anyway: “Vhat do ve need to do?”

Remy’s response was to turn his gentleman’s smile into a shark’s grin.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt gets roped into a felony adventure with Remy, and might just end up getting them caught.

Peter looked at a map of New Orleans, turning it various ways and sighing. “This is dumb,” he said aloud.

No one really looked at him as he walked down the street to his first stop of the night: City First Bank. This would be the first of many bank stops he’d make.

His job was to, as Remy put it, _‘distract de city.’_ To use his speed to get the cops’ attention in any way he saw fit. Remy had suggested stealing, or at least breaking into various places.

Peter decided he might as well go big or go home. He was going to rob every bank in New Orleans—or at least make it seem like he would.

To be brutally honest, Peter had gotten bored with the stealing. After breaking into the Pentagon in ’73, he couldn’t do anything that would come close to that thrill. Probably why he’d decided to do the X-Man gig. That seemed a bit more of a rush than anything he’d done since the Pentagon break-in.

So, he was going to be creative with these ‘robberies’. Leave a calling card, maybe some sort of trinket. Too bad it wasn’t Mardi Gras season, or else he’d have a lot more to work with. He could probably stir up some good trouble then, and wouldn’t have to do this boring stuff.

Peter put on his goggles and turned on his 8-track player. _Thriller_ began to blast through his headphones. Hey, it was autumn. Peter enjoyed a good Halloween thrill every now and again, even if it was still late-September. Even though _Thriller_ was relatively new, Peter was an instant fan and played the song any time he felt like he needed a good mood lightener. This moment definitely needed to be lightened.

And some of the lyrics felt appropriate, anyway…

_“It’s close to miiiiiidnight…Somethin’ evil’s lurkin’ through the dark…”_

Off he went.

* * *

“Okay, dis is it.”

Kurt stared at the property in front of him with wide eyes. The house was _gigantic_! Granted, not as big as the Xavier School, but still…it was massive. A huge iron fence squared off the property from the rest of New Orleans. The lawn was about as extensive as Xavier’s, with more ornaments and fountains dotting the landscape. Everything was neat and tidy, and square for some reason. Leaves were all styled to make their trees look like cubes on a stick, and the bushes lining the fence were all sharp-edged, like giant green bricks.

The house itself looked like a French mansion, with massive pillars holding up the entranceway and porch. Intricate designs swirled around the house’s extremities, such as the window panes, roof edges, etc.

“Big, _non_?” Remy had taken off his sunglasses. Thank goodness, Kurt had thought, for wearing them at night seemed illogical.

“ _Ja_ ,” Kurt breathed out. “It is very big.” He turned to look at Remy. “So how do ve get _in_?”

Remy rolled his eyes. “You get us to de fron’ porch, an’ Remy do de rest.”

“Vhy vas I needed, then?” Kurt asked, exasperated.

“Because Remy needs to _escape_.” He chuckled. “You be de ticket t’ get out in case sometin’ go wrong. You do de smoke trick wit’ Remy and _poof_!” He spread his hands wide. “We gone, _mon ami_.”

Remy then looked Kurt up and down with a judging look. He cocked an eyebrow. “So, when you be changin’ back to de devil?”

Kurt blinked, then looked down. He’d forgotten he was still in disguise. “Sorry,” he said automatically. He took out his image inducer and turned it off. Instantly, his disguise flickered and melted away. Kurt spent a moment looking at his hands, mutated once more.

“Neat trick,” Remy conceded. “But you look better dis way. Like a _Petit Diable._ ”

Kurt’s tail lashed. “Excuse me?”

“ _Petit Diable,_ ” Remy repeated with a sly grin. “You know…uh…‘big blue.’”

“You do realize I know a little French,” Kurt informed him. “Enough to understand that you are calling me ‘tiny devil.’”

“Your point?” Remy’s grin widened. “You a small ting, _mon ami_. An’ if you ain’t noticed…dere be a devilish quality to ya.”

“I’m not small.”

“Remy beg to differ.”

Kurt was used to this. He slouched most of the time—to help him balance with his tail better—so people assumed he was smaller than he actually was. In truth, he was above six feet, but most people only saw him at five foot nine. Remy seemed to be around six-four, which was obviously much larger than Kurt’s crouch.

Kurt sighed very loudly, extremely annoyed. “Vhatever. The porch, then?”

_“Oui.”_

Kurt grabbed the man’s shoulders and teleported them both to the front porch. Remy stumbled once they’d landed and tried to catch his breath. Kurt couldn’t help but smirk.

“Rough ride, _mein freund_?” Kurt quipped.

Remy gave him a beastly glare. “Maybe make it not so rough, next time?”

Kurt’s tail wagged at the older man’s displeasure. “Not my fault you are not used to it.”

Remy kneeled in front of the door, pulling out lockpicks. He didn’t say anything further about the teleport. Within a minute, the Cajun had unlocked the door. He bowed and motioned for Kurt to go first. “After you, _Petit Diable._ ”

Kurt’s fine fur bristled slightly at the newest of the plethora of nicknames he’d received since first joining Xavier’s—and his least favorite, by far. He wished he were clever enough to come up with a revenge nickname on the spot. But his brain wouldn’t cooperate with him—not in any way that mattered.

Kurt padded softly inside. Remy followed, shutting the door silently behind them.

“Now vhere?” Kurt asked in a low whisper.

Remy wagged his finger momentarily, as if he were lost himself. “Uh, dis way,” he finally said, pointing to a large room to their left. “ _Oui_ , dis way.”

They quickly slid through the house, staying silent. Kurt could see why Remy wanted to steal from here; there were so many rich items just casually strewn about the house that even Kurt could feel his fingers growing sticky.

Every few moments, Kurt had to remind himself to watch out for his tail. Normally, it behaved, but even in the circus he was not allowed near fragile things. This was for good reason; Kurt’s tail was like a magnet to breakable objects, and one false swipe of it would result in immediate shattering.

Remy led him up some stairs. The carpets lining these stairs were as plush as Kurt’s fur. He tried not to drag his feet for fear of static cling.

Remy opened a door and smiled. “Dis be de room,” he muttered. “Stand watch ‘ere.”

Kurt stood inside the room, just beyond the doorway. This was definitely a lady’s room, with lovely furniture, silken curtains, and delicate trimmings lining the bed. The bed itself was covered in fancy pillows and stuffed animals. Remy was going for a jewelry box on the nightstand, pilfering through it while making minimal noise.

Suddenly, Kurt smelled something. Some sort of strong, sweetish smell that tickled his nose unpleasantly. He identified the multiple perfumes lining the vanity desk, but those smells were mixed with something else. He spotted some lit incense sticks to the side and covered his sensitive nose. It was too late though; the damage had been done.

“Ah,” Kurt breathed in. “Ah…”

Remy, who had taken something out of the box and replaced it with a note, looked up. His red eyes widened when he realized what Kurt was about to do.

“Don’t you do it, _Petit_ ,” Remy growled softly. “Dis room’s residen’ may be out for de week, but ‘er parents still be here!”

Kurt wished he could stop, but the _smells!_ Something about the vanilla-pineapple incense combined with the various perfumes of the room tickled his sense of smell just right.

“ _ACHOO!”_

Kurt sneezed loudly. Multiple times. And, unfortunately, after the first time, he couldn’t help himself…

He began to sneeze-teleport. Every sneeze made him end up in a different spot. At first it was the same room, then he began landing in the hallway, and finally all over the grounds. Every time he ‘ported, his smoke was inhaled, which, coupled with each teleport, were loud enough to make a rhino charge. And they were certainly loud enough to wake the residents of the house.

Kurt landed in the hall, panting. The multiple teleports were taking a toll, and he probably had one good one left in him. He held his breath, preventing the sneeze that might trigger that last ‘port. Things were starting to go fuzzy…

Remy ran from the woman’s room, waving his hand in front of him to clear some of the sulfurous smoke. He coughed. “You are fired, _Petit Diable!_ ” he snarled.

“Who’s there?” called a voice down the same hall.

A door opened. “What the Hell? Where’d all this smoke come from?”

Remy grabbed Kurt’s shoulder. “Time we go _poof, mon ami_.”

Kurt took a deep breath and prepared to teleport. The click of a gun—possibly a revolver—caught his attention momentarily, but he focused more on where to go this time.

**_BAMF!_ **

They were out of the sulfur-stained mansion and on the street. Remy was steadier after this teleport, but Kurt’s energy was nearly gone. The street came up to meet him as he landed on his knees, suppressing the urge to vomit.

“Rough ride?” Remy snarked, mirroring Kurt’s earlier attitude.

Kurt grabbed one of Remy’s legs with his tail and forced the Cajun to fall down. The man landed onto his butt with a _thud._

“Ouch, _Petit_ ,” Remy groaned. “Dat’s a foul!”

Kurt’s strength finally abandoned him. He collapsed onto the pavement like a limp doll. Shadows twisted around him, and he knew a blackout was coming.

“Uh, no, no,” Remy said above him. “Dis is no time for naps, _Petit_. We gotta git goin’ before dey catch us.”

When Kurt didn’t move, he heard and exasperated sigh. Before he could protest, Kurt was lifted into a fireman’s carry. His tail slapped against Remy’s chest and his arms dangled behind Remy’s legs as the Cajun took off at a run for safety.

Kurt passed out within ten steps.


End file.
